


Tricks, Treats, and Other Saucy Endeavors on Devil's Night

by InvaderEx7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Potter - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunken Confessions, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Handcuffs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Post-Hogwarts, Rimming, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvaderEx7/pseuds/InvaderEx7
Summary: 'Firewhisky . . .' he thought, 'Now that rings a bell. I taste alcohol, though it's different than whisky.' The savior of the wizarding world burped as though on cue, and he grimaced as his stomach sloshed. 'Yup, too much alcohol, whatever it was. But where did I have it at?'Then he froze, images from the night prior flooding his mind with fragments of a memory. There had been dancing, and drinking, and no small amount of debauchery . . . he had been at the Three Broomstick's Halloween party, drinking with someone who attracted him; that much he remembered. Then . . . oh, Merlin, then they had gone home together! He stiffened, and dared to glance down at the someone buried beneath the silk ebony covers, though only a sliver of pale skin and strands of white-blonde hair were to be seen.Fairly PWP tbh





	

   The room appeared to be a spinning, blurry mess, and Harry quickly shut his eyes again. A pounding headache was creeping across his skull, and the warmth radiating from the body beside him made the bed feel stuffy in comparison to the slightly chilly room. Wait . . . what body beside him!? He snapped his eyes open, instantly regretting it as even the dim candlelight seemed to scald his emerald orbs, the mass of blankets and its occupant a haze of colors. The low light combined with his lack of glasses and headache was not helping his very compromised vision, and he reached out blindly to what he hoped was a bedside table, to where he hoped his wand would be. His fingers brushed against a knotted wooden handle, and Harry sighed in relief as he gripped his wand tightly.  
   “Accio glasses,” he whispered lightly, not wanting to disturb whoever his bedside mate was. The gods were merciful, and he felt the tingle of cool metal as his glasses landed neatly on his face, resting on the bridge of his nose. He looked around, blinking owlishly. Though the world was no longer a blur, it still appeared to spin in sync with the nausea roiling in his stomach. Harry groaned, clutching his stomach with one hand and his wand with the other. Whatever this was, it was not pleasant. He felt . . . hung over, like he had been after the war when he drowned his agony in too much Firewhisky.  
   'Firewhisky . . .' he thought, 'Now that rings a bell. I taste alcohol, though it's different than whisky.' The savior of the wizarding world burped as though on cue, and he grimaced as his stomach sloshed. 'Yup, too much alcohol, whatever it was. But where did I have it at?' Then he froze, images from the night prior flooding his mind with fragments of a memory. There had been dancing, and drinking, and no small amount of debauchery . . . he had been at the Three Broomstick's Halloween party, drinking with someone who attracted him; that much he remembered. Then . . . oh, Merlin, then they had gone home together! He stiffened, and dared to glance down at the someone buried beneath the silk ebony covers, though only a sliver of pale skin and strands of white-blonde hair were to be seen.  
   Nervous laughter built up in Harry's chest, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to mute his hysteria. The man who had fought Voldemort, died, and then won was now scared as all hell. He carefully reached out and grasped the edge of the covers, preparing to pull them back and reveal his bedmate, but he stopped. Before anything else, he wanted to remember what had landed him in this most awkward of situations. With a half-memory on the tip of his tongue, he turned his attention to the bedside table and saw a little glass bottle that shone red even in the low light. Picking it up, he saw that the label read 'Hangover Potion.' Thankful, he took a liberal sip of the sweet potion and let it work its magic, clearing his thoughts and reviving him. He focused on the Three Broomsticks, and felt his memory start to return . . .

   The Three Broomsticks was a small, somewhat dingy little pub, but they knew how to throw a party- with gusto. Every wall was decorated with Halloween wreaths and ribbons, the ceiling was home to cutout bats enchanted to fly, and every piece of furniture was either draped in cobwebs or contained something old and mysterious looking. Everything from the snack tray (that had a tendency to bite double-dippers) to the floating black candles and their purple flames held a sense of eerie, Halloween perfection. Everything that is, except for one Harry James Potter's demeanor.  
   He truthfully was not in the mood for a party, jovial as the atmosphere was, and he sighed as he ordered a shot of Firewhisky. As he sipped the welcome beverage, he recounted what had landed him in this situation to begin with. He had been at work, doing the paperwork that he and every other sane Auror detested, when he received the first letter. This letter was from his ex-wife Ginny, letting him know that while a visit was fine, she and her new boyfriend Kyle were to be taking the children trick-or-treating. That was a buzz-kill all on its own, worsened by the second letter. This letter was from his best friends in the world, Ron and Hermione Weasley, who apologetically told him that they could no longer attend the small get-together he had planned as their daughter Rose had contracted a nasty cough.  
   Attempting to combat this lack of entertainment on his favorite holiday, Harry wrote some of his old friends to see if they would like to attend a Halloween party with him. In response, he received an owl from his pals Seamus and Dean letting him know that they were away on vacation out of country. Neville and Luna Longbottom had their hands full, as Luna was due to give birth in a matter of days, and was understandably unable to leave the hospital. After trying a few more friends, Harry gave up and decided to go it alone, Apparating from his home in Godric's Hollow to the streets of Hogsmead that he had not seen in years. But now he sat, drinking away and wishing that he had either stayed home or gone to someplace less crowded and noisy, like a cafe. Still, he had really wanted something alcoholic.  
   Groaning, Harry was about to bang his head on the bar top when he felt a warm, solid someone squish against his side. Granted, he was used to people brushing past him and squishing him in the crowded bar, but this was on another level of squish-dom. Whoever it was (he couldn't see, they had their cloak’s hood up) was half leaning on him in their attempt to squeeze through the crowd and onto the unoccupied bar stool to the Potter's left. Harry took the cue and squished himself to the right, his hip bone grinding against the stool's back, hoping the other person would slip into their stool quickly before the mass of costumed witches and wizards engulfed them. That almost happened, and the other did end up in their seat, but not before a push from the crowd had them sliding their hand up and gripping Harry's thigh for leverage.  
   “Are you alright?” Harry asked, cheeks warming from the shot and the sudden contact.  
   “Yes, I'm fine, no thanks to the brutes behind us,” the stranger groused, turning to shoot a glance at the drunk and stumbling witches passing by. Harry paused, unable to form a reply. That stranger had a familiar voice . . . “Apologies,” the not-so-stranger said as he (for they had to be male) turned back to Harry, taking his hood off and brushing pale bangs out of his equally pale blue eyes. “I did not intend to grab you when I-” his words slowed to a halt as he took in the wizard before him. “Bloody hell, after all this time.” A smirk crept onto the blonde's face, and his eyes were at once alight with amusement. “Evening, Potter.”  
   “Evening, Malfoy.” Harry was grateful when another shot of whisky arrived, and he downed it before continuing. “It's been . . . awhile. Just about three years, I believe.”  
   “Indeed.”  
   “So, er, how have you been?” Harry asked awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.  
   “Articulate as ever, I see,” the wizard beside him chuckled. “Same old Gryffindor.”  
Harry’s eyebrow twitched up. “You haven't answered my question. Same old Slytherin.”  
   “Fair enough. But house rivalry seems a bit petty at our age, wouldn’t you agree?” Harry blinked in surprise, but then sighed as a familiar gleam entered the other’s icy eyes as Draco said: “Petty as it is, it would be a shame not to show you up on a night like this. After all, you look . . .” his gaze raked over Harry before returning to meet his eyes. “You look . . . alone. Therefor I presume you are not otherwise occupied."  
   “How do you know I’m alone? My date could be along any moment for all you know,” Harry sniffed, taking a swig of his whisky.  
   “True, but then you wouldn’t have let me take this seat.”  
   Harry blanked- the ponce had a point. “Fine,” he conceded, “I came alone. What of it?”  
   “Aw, poor Potter; I read about you divorce in the Prophet. Are you not adjusting well?” Malfoy asked, a hint of bitterness lurking beneath his sarcasm.  
Huffing, the Gryffindor turned on him. “If you must know, I am quite content to be here alone. My ex and her boyfriend are taking the kids out, and my friends had other plans. I came here to enjoy the solace and a Firewhisky. Now that the solace is gone, I shall be leaving. Excuse me.” Harry made to leave, but Draco caught the edge of his shoulder firmly and hauled him back onto the stool.  
   “Now, now, Potter, running away was never your style. Besides, I cannot allow you to leave after ingesting that sludge you call a drink,” he said, crinkling his nose as he looked at the empty whisky glass.  
   Curiosity and annoyance battled within Harry’s emotions, but curiosity won out. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But if you’re making me stay here, you’re buying.”  
   “Naturally,” Draco said distractedly, looking around for a waitress. A pretty brunette witch caught his eye and headed their way, weaving her way through the packed room. When she arrived at the table, her eyes widened as she took in the two handsome men.  
   “W-what would you like?” She stuttered, taking out her notepad and nearly disappearing into the mob as a gaggle of women pushed by her.  
   Malfoy gave a winning smile, brushed back a strand of light hair, and ordered two Salazar Snappers and a Dragon’s Breath, both drinks that Harry was unfamiliar with. Their server hurried away and returned to serve them, her haste temporarily forgotten as she handed Draco the drinks and stared at him.  
   “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked as seductively as possible over the roar of the party.  
   “I am quite content with what I already have here, thank you,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the drinks and other wizard in a broad sweeping motion, nearly knocking Harry’s glasses off in the process. The waitress pouted, the double-meaning not lost on her as it was on Harry, and turned her attention to more promising customers.  
   “That poor girl,” Draco sighed as he downed the shot of Snapper. “She doesn’t even know what she’s missing, and yet, I would not have her just the same.”  
   Harry tuned him out, his attention on the two shots and flagon before them. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at a sizzling shot of something green.  
   “A Salazar Snapper,” Draco said proudly, taking one glass in hand and sliding the other to Harry. “An off-menu choice for those who know enough about Slytherin to request it. Drink up, Gryff,” he smirked, downing his shot and licking his lips.  
   Harry gulped at that sight, and distracted himself by drinking. It was surprisingly spicy, with a hint of mint at the end to cool the overall burning sensation. “That was . . . good,” Harry admitted, secretly wanting another one. “What’s in it?”  
   “Oh, the usual: alcohol, herbs, and a few things that are illegal.”  
The Gryffindor raised his brow at that, a stray dark lock falling into his emerald green eyes and making him go cross-eyed for a moment. The Slytherin chuckled at the expression, drinking in the vibrant color of Harry’s eyes.  
   “Kidding,” he said, stacking their glasses neatly and putting the flagon between them. “Now why don't we sample this as you explain what it is you're wearing?”  
   Harry looked down at his costume on impulse, then shrugged as he inspected the grey bandages covering his chest and pants. “I'm a mummy.”  
   Draco snorted in a most un-aristocratic way. “No shit. I meant that you should explain the story behind your attire.”  
   “Eh, there isn't much of a story,” Harry said simply. “I just saw it at the store and thought it would look good.”  
Draco hummed in agreement. “You do indeed look good,” he said, taking a sip of the Dragon's Breath. Harry felt his cheeks warm; had Draco meant for that to sound so . . . well, sexual? The Gryffindor's mind swirled with emotional tumult, but Draco's voice put an end to the turmoil as he said: “Good, but boring.”  
   His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses as Harry challenged: “Why boring? I don't suppose you have some epic story behind your getup?”  
Pale lips pulled up into a grin, and fangs slid forward with the trademark smirk. “Oh, but I do,” Draco said, casting his cloak off with as much flourish as the space allowed to reveal his vintage Victorian shirt, paler white than his skin, complete with a black lace cravat and silver brooch. His legs were covered in ebony breeches that clung to him in all the right ways, and everything from his buckled boots to his pocket watch screamed Victorian aristocratic elegance.  
   Harry felt his mouth water slightly, but immediately pushed those thoughts away. Now was definitely not the time to desire troublesome Slytherins from the past. Now was, however, a perfect time to quip: “I see the costume, but where's the story?”  
   The vampire smiled and took a sip off of the flagon before pushing it Harry's way. “Ah-ah, only if you drink this with me. Trust me, it's delicious.”  
   “So you're not a germaphobe, that's surprising,” Harry noted, picking up the Dragon's Breath. “I figured you would want me to drink out of another glass so that my lips could not sully yours.”  
   Malfoy's lips twitched into a little smile. “Nothing that your lips touch is sullied.”  
   Harry choked on the drink, coughing some of the amber liquid into a napkin, which was a shame as it was rather tasty. He glared at his fellow, suddenly feeling all shapes and sizes of confused. There was, after all, no real way to misinterpret that. Before his brain could intervene, his mouth shot off: “Are you coming on to me?”  
   “Well, that depends,” the Slytherin said coyly.  
   “Depends on what?” Harry challenged.  
   “On whether you want me to or not.”  
   The brunette held his breath as Draco's eyes held his gaze with a searing look. “I . . .” Harry's voice trailed off. Could he, the wizarding world's savior, really be okay with his old Slytherin rival hitting on him? If he had been asked the same question a few sane, alcohol free hours ago, Harry would have said absolutely not (at least to save face). But now he found himself wondering if that was really such a bad thing. “I suppose . . . not,” he finished, sighing half in relief and half in despair. “But you owe me that story and-” he polished off the flagon, “-and another round.”  
   “Coming right up,” Draco said smoothly, and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  
   'Bugger it all,' Harry thought. 'I'm a grown man, he's a grown man (his mouth watered again at that thought), and I can do what I want.' And so the conversation marched on, Draco explaining his vampiric character in depth as they shared another flagon of the malt Dragon's Breath and several other drinks. In the course of a few hours, they had gotten quite sloshed. “Oi,” Harry said, a light slur to his words, “You ne'er told me why you're here alone. Shurely you have a partner or something, righ'?”  
   “I would not be here hitting on you if I did,” Draco said defiantly. “If you musht know, Astoria and I divorced almosht as soon ash we married. The only good that came out of our union wash my son Schorpiush- er, Scorpius. I love tha' little guy,” he said fondly, paternal pride swimming in his eyes. “Little brat looks just like me, too, 'cept he has hish mother's stubby fingers.” He giggled, a very un-Malfoy thing to do on a regular basis, and downed another Salazar Snapper. “'nyways, what were we talking about?”  
   “Hell if I know,” Harry chuckled merrily, not caring when a party-goer bumped into his back hard. “But there ish shomething I've been meaning to ask you.”  
   “Mm?” Draco asked, running his boot up Harry's calf, making the brunette shiver.  
   “Uh, what wash your problem when we were students? I get that your family didn't exactly like me and all,” he laughed, “'shpecially your dad, but you really seemed to hate my guts.” Harry's grin faded away, and though he was drunk, there was a sobering look of pain in his eyes. “That . . . hurt, Draco.”  
   The blonde frowned at the bottom of his empty glass. “I was . . . forget it.” He turned away slightly, his shoulders hunched, but Harry reached out and gripped his shoulders tightly, forcing Draco to face him.  
   “Hey, water under the bridge,” he said, patting the other's face a little harder than he would have if sober. “‘Sides, I did save your arshe a time or two; you owe me an explanashion at least.”  
   “If I musht. You shee, when you didn't wanna take my hand in firsht year, I thought you hated me.”  
   “I . . . I kind of did, at the time.”  
   Draco nodded saddly and went on. “Then, ash we got older, I couldn't repair the past. You and your friendsh hated me, mine hated you, and the presshure from my family was to destroy you, not befriend you. And . . . the confushing little crush I had on the Chosen One was not helpful.”  
Harry's eyes, already wide, nearly bugged out. “You had a crush on me?!” Draco nodded. “Bloody hell, Hermione really ish right about everything,” he mumbled. “She kinda thought, but washn't sure ... And she only brought it up yearsh later.”  
   Nodding, the Slytherin's eyes pierced his. “But what about you? Did you ever even notice?”  
   A blush crept across the Gryffindor's cheeks. “I . . . I washn't sure either. And it was all happeing so fasht, and there was so much going on with Sirius and Dumbledore and . . . I couldn't have been shure, and even if I had been, I wouldn't have done anything about it. I was too scared.”  
   “Of me?” Draco asked, looking down at the bar to despondently.  
   “No- of me.” Malfoy demanded an explanatin with his eyes, and Harry gave one. “I felt daffy. I mean, how many teenage wizards crush on their male enemy, right? So I focused on more important things, on finding the Horcruxesh and fighting the war. It washn't until I saved you . . . when I saw your fear in the middle of all that fire, that I losht it again. The feelingsh weren't full force, I did like Ginny, but I knew that I couldn't leave you there. I couldn't leave you. And then to shee your mum, so worried about you as she lied for me, and after you had lied to try and save me. . .” Tears pricked Harry's eyes, and his vision swam as he turned from a jolly drunk to a morose one. The savior sniffled and buried himself in the open arms, reveling in the embrace that surrounded him, but sobbing just the same as horrible memories flooded his thoughts. He was always the strong one; it felt nice to break down and be held for once.  
   “No more tears,” Draco said, his voice clearer than it had been since getting drunk, and he pressed his lips to Harry's gently. He leaned back, ignoring reactions from the crowd as he gauged Harry's reaction to the kiss. If the parted lips and slowing tears were any indication, Draco would say that he had liked it, so he leaned in and kissed him again, this time with more force than before, savoring the taste of alcohol and Harry that greeted him. It wasn't long until they were making out against the bar, and when they pulled apart they were both ruffled, wearing matching smiles.  
   “You have no idea how long I've waited to do that,” Draco panted, admiring the tint to Harry's cheeks.  
   “Same here,” Harry said, breath hitching in his throat as Draco’s hands went from resting on his waist to sliding under his chest bandages. “D-Draco,” he moaned loudly as the other man's thumbs brushed over his nipples. Several heads in the crowd turned to them, and those who were not busy snogging someone either smiled, glared at them, or desperately wished to join in. The waitress who had flirted with Malfoy was almost beside herself with woe. Draco hastily paid for their drinks, having racked up quite a bill, then tugged Harry through the crowd and out into the street, stumbling slightly from the intoxication. Frowning, he dug around in his cloak pocket until his fingers found a familiar shape, which he pulled out, revealing the small purple vial to Harry with a smirk.  
   “Wha' ish that?” Harry slurred  
   “Alcohol detoxsh potion,” he answered proudly, taking the stopper off of the vial. “You firsht,” he said, but instead of handing the vial to Harry, he drank half of the contents.  
   “What do you mean me firsht when you already-” Harry's confusion was cut short as Malfoy captured his lips and opened his mouth to the kiss, the potion trickling from his mouth down Harry's throat, stray droplets seeping out of their mouths and running down Harry's chin. Malfoy pulled away with a trademark smirk and drank the remaining potion, noticing the effects almost immediately as his head cleared and his body felt more stable.  
   “Better?” he asked Harry, the slurring gone from his voice.  
   “Much,” he said gratefully. “Now, where were we again?”  
   “I believe we were headed back to my place,” the Slytherin purred, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist.  
   “Sounds like a plan,” he replied with a wink, and they kissed, Apparating away in the night.

 

   Harry shook with all sorts of emotions as the memory overwhelmed him. So much had happened in that one night, and he wanted to remember what had happened after they arrived at Draco's place, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Surely it had been something . . . fun, considering the fact that Harry only had red boxer briefs on. His cheeks warmed, but he grit his teeth and grasped the covers with conviction. 'I have to know,' he decided firmly, yanking the cover away to show Draco lying face down with nothing on. Harry's blush worsened, and he began to feel uncomfortable as Malfoy groaned and curled up in his sleep.  
   “Oh no, you don't get away from me through sleep, you ponce,” Harry said, hoping to be harsher than his damned feelings made it sound. He couldn't help it; Draco's platinum hair managed to shine even in the low light, and his skin looked so soft and tasty . . . “Bloody hell,” he groaned, “I really am in trouble. Draco, wake up!” he demanded, shaking the other's shoulder.  
   Draco blinked sleepily, stretching out before he turned toward Harry. “Wha'sa matter, Harry?” he asked, sleep and a hangover clogging his voice.  
   “So you remember that I'm here, that's a start,” he grumbled.  
   “What are you on about?” The Slytherin asked tiredly, attempting to reach for the bedside table. Harry handed him the hangover potion, which he drank quickly to be rid of his hellacious headache.  
   “I'm on about last night,” Harry explained, blush growing as Draco stretched out on his back.  
   “What of it?” the blonde asked, stretching again and enjoying the way Harry’s impossibly green eyes widened.  
   “W-we . . . need to talk,” Harry stammered, mouth dry from the sight before him.  
   The Slytherin’s grin widened, and his eyes flashed with something dangerously predatory as he stared Harry down. “On with it, Potter; you have my undivided attention.”  
Harry screamed at his brain to come up with a tactful, witty, and intelligent response. It didn't listen. “What the fuck happened last night?” he squeaked, hysteria obvious in his voice.  
   The look he received in response both unsettled and aroused him. “Unfortunately, not as much as we intended when we set out for my place,” Malfoy said heatedly.  
   “Wait,” Harry said, trying (and failing) to avert his eyes as the Malfoy sat up on the bed and leaned towards him. “So . . . so we didn't, you know . . .”  
   “Not entirely,” Malfoy chuckled ruefully. “Unfortunately, once we got to this stage of attire, or lack thereof, you thought it would be great to imbibe further. Since the detox potion had done a pretty good job of ridding us of the previous alcohol effects, I agreed.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger angstily. “Terrible idea. You then knocked back a fucking flask of Firewhisky you had hidden somewhere on your person and, as a result, passed out. So, the night from then on was cancelled thanks to your dumb arse.”  
   Harry wasn't sure if he should feel relieved, petulant, or horribly saddened by the lost opportunity to shag Malfoy. He first settled for petulant. “That's not really my fault,” he sniffed, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Hell, I've only slept with one person since Ginny. And considering who I was about to sleep with . . .” his sentence broke off and he stared at the sheets awkwardly.  
   “What do you mean by that?” Malfoy asked, a slight edge to his seemingly calm voice.  
   “I mean that we were going pretty fast,” Harry sighed, clutching a shiny green pillow absent mindedly. “I wasn't even sure how to handle the sudden revelations that I got from being around you . . . I thought a drink would calm me down and I got carried away.”  
   “Don't tell me I'm the first guy you've been with? Well, considering being with?” Malfoy asked incredulously.  
   “You're not,” Harry said, a bit hesitantly from the sheer awkwardness of it all. “Hell, I'm 32 years old! It's just, with the last person it was much more casual. With you . . .” He looked away, not sure if he could finish that sentence honestly. Luckily, Draco read his mind and finished it for him.  
   “With me, it brings back old memories. Old . . . feelings?” His question hung in the air, weighing down the room's atmosphere, and Harry could feel an answer catch in his throat. He saw that the famous Malfoy confidence had melted away, the bravado banished for that moment. He saw that Draco was vulnerable.  
   "Yes,” Harry managed, and the amount of conviction his voice was capable of surprised him. Draco's head snapped up at the answer, his mouth suddenly dry, his body suddenly warm, and his heartbeat suddenly fast.  
   “Potter . . .” he started, his eyes aglow with something warm and sex-tastic.  
   “Y-yeah?” The glow did not go unnoticed, neither did his slow approach as he raised himself up, weight supported on his knees, and made his way to Harry's side.  
   “If you don't mind, I'd like to fuck you into next week now,” Draco said, his voice caught somewhere between a whisper and a growl.  
   “I don't mind.” And with that, their lips were crashing together, all traces of awkwardness gone as they kissed like it was their last day alive. Harry panted, his open mouth an invitation for Draco's tongue to move in and intertwine with his. The blonde gripped him firmly, pushing him down onto the bed as he sat atop him and deepened the kiss.         Harry moaned and ran his hands down the other's back, cupping his arse appreciatively as the other pulled his hair. Draco broke the kiss and brought his lips lower, biting Harry's neck harshly and licking the red mark.  
   “Ahh!” Potter cried, eyes watering with pleasure-pain. Malfoy pulled away with a pointy smirk. “B-bastard, you still have the fangs in!” Harry groaned, and the Slytherin chuckled.  
   “Don't you like them?” he asked with a wink. Harry was honest with himself; he liked them- a lot. The predatory edge they gave the already dominant wizard transcended beyond sexy; it was supremely sexy. Hell, maybe he had a thing for vampires . . . he certainly had a thing for biting.  
   Groaning with frustration at the sudden lack of kissing and said biting, Harry pulled Draco's neck down and bit back, his normal teeth doing the job just fine and eliciting a harsh grunt from the other. They kissed again, violent and unrelenting as Malfoy's hand reached between them and cupped Harry's manhood through the boxers, stroking his thumb over the length. He gasped and the blonde responded with a husky: “We really should dispose of this cumbersome garment.” He shifted so that he was at Harry's feet, hands on his waistband.  
   “Lift your hips,” he commanded, and Harry did just that, reveling in the feel of Draco's cool, deft fingers as they brushed over his hips and pulled the offending underwear off. There was nothing between them now but air, and Malfoy took advantage of this by running his hands up the length of Harry's body, paying special attention to sensitive areas like his thighs and nipples.  
   “F-fuck, Draco!” he moaned as the Slytherin delighted in the warm skin under him. Harry kissed him again when he got close enough, gripping his shoulders tightly and biting his lip as their groins rubbed against one another. They gasped at the delicious contact, and Malfoy began to move his hips, the friction making them harder by the second as a tingling electricity raced up their spines. Merlin, it felt so good!  
   “Th-this should be illegal,” Harry panted. “Illegal to feel so good. As an Auror, I should arrest you- ah!” He cried out as Malfoy grinded their hips together roughly.  
   “There is error in your logic, Harry,” the Slytherin breathed. “You may be the Auror, but I could just as easily arrest you.” Harry keened as they thrusted against one another, their hip bones grinding into each other. “What do you mean-nnh?”  
   Swollen lips pulled into a smirk as Malfoy reached out to the beside table and took up his wand. “Well, to be frank, I'm the one with the handcuffs,” he purred, and with a flick of his wand, cuffs appeared and bound Harry's wrists together.  
   “Kinky bastar-ahhhh!” he moaned mid-sentence, his hips rocking as he looped his bound wrists behind Malfoy's neck, eyes shut tight as they ground against each other.    “Draco . . .” the Slytherin shivered as the Gryffindor called his name and ground against him with more urgency, both of them groaning and picking up the pace. They slid together fluidly, the bottom one arching his back and hips upward to meet the other's desperate thrusts. Harry's mouth opened in a silent scream as the intensity between them became too much to handle, and he came with his lover's name on his lips. “Dra-Draco!!” he cried, riding out his orgasm. The other followed suit, grunting as he released. Harry panted and fought to catch his breath, but the other smirked.  
   “I'm not done with you yet,” he promised, leaning in close to stare into the other's beautiful green eyes. “I've waited too long to take you to stop now.”  
   “Then don't stop,” Harry said weakly, and their ensuing kiss sizzled with passion, ending when Draco surprised Harry by flipping him over stomach-down on the bed. Before he had a chance to protest, Draco's mouth was on him.  
   “F-fuck!” he moaned as he felt a warm tongue slide down his lower back and over his hole, Dracos' lips skillfully sucking on the rim before his tongue delved into him. Potter groaned when Malfoy put fingers before his mouth, and he sucked on them obligingly, eliciting a moan from the Slytherin. The pads of his fingers tingled with electricity. When his fingers were thoroughly coated, Malfoy brought the first one to Harry’s slick hole and began to stretch him gently, sliding his finger in and out slowly.  
   “More,” Harry begged, and the other obliged by adding a second finger and biting the back of his neck in a show of primal dominance. The Gryffindor moaned and began to thrust into the Slytherin's fingers, dark locks of hair falling into his face as they picked up a fast pace, stretching him out. Harry cried out as Draco’s fingers brushed his prostate, seeing stars as the blonde smirked behind him. With the Chosen One properly prepped, Malfoy could no longer control himself, and he lined himself up, hands on Potter's hips.  
   “You ready?” he asked, desperate with the need to be inside of him.  
   “Hell yes,” he groaned. Satisfied with that answer, Draco slowly pushed in to the hilt, a moan on both of their lips.  
   “So tight,” Draco hissed. “Are you okay?” Harry nodded and mewled in pleasure as Draco’s thumb flitted across his stretched, pink rim. Wisps of blonde hair fell into Draco’s eyes as he carefully pulled out and pushed in, holding himself up with one hand as he used the other to stroke Harry’s straining cock.  
   “I-ahh!-I want to see you,” Harry whispered with a charming blush, and Draco removed the cuffs and changed positions so that he was smiling atop Harry, his slender hips resting between his lover's as he thrust in deeply.  
   “Faster, faster . . !” Harry mewled deliciously under him, fisting one of his hands in the silk sheets and using the other to claw his lover's back. Draco pounded him relentlessly, worshiping his body and the strangled cries that ripped their way out of his throat. Harry moved his hips to meet the thrusts as they grew more powerful and more erratic. Their kisses were sloppy but passionate, their mouths fitted together tightly so that not even air could disturb them. Harry finally pulled his lips away with a sharp gasp as Draco repeatedly rammed into his prostate, making him see stars.  
   “Right there, right fucking there!” he cried, Malfoy moaning in unison as he felt the muscular walls around his prick tighten more and more as their excitement built.  
   “Merlin, Harry, you’re so beautiful,” Malfoy gasped as he plowed into Harry’s prostate ruthlessly. “So beautiful . . .”  
Harry’s eyes teared up as his hole was battered, and with a sinful scream he shut his eyes and came, strands of hot semen coating their stomachs in white streaks. The added pressure around Malfoy’s prick was too much to handle, and with a final glorious thrust, he was a shuddering, moaning mess. His come dripped out of the brunette’s arse as he pulled out, running down his tanned thighs in slow, milky rivulets. Malfoy watched the ooze, watched as Harry attempted to catch his breath, watched as beads of sweat trickled down his lover’s tan body. His dark hair was a tangles mess, his green eyes were glassy, his pupils still dilated from pleasure. Draco decided he had never seen anything so marvelous in all his life.  
   Sufficiently tired, they finally collapsed, Malfoy laying on Harry with abandon as his muscles decided they did not want to move again for another hour or so. Malfoy feebly waved his wand and used a quick cleaning spell, but that was the end of his effort. As they lie there trying to catch their breath, the realization dawned on Draco, and he spoke up.  
   “I forgot to tell you something last night, Harry,” he said, looking into the bespectacled one's eyes and draping an arm over his waist carelessly.  
   “And what is that?” The brunette asked, color rising to his already flushed cheeks.  
   Draco smiled, winked mischievously, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Happy Halloween, love.”


End file.
